


these hands were meant for mine

by tchallas



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Kinda, Kissing, M/M, Nightmares, bucky just doesn't get why tchalla is w him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 01:22:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6449851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tchallas/pseuds/tchallas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few moments later, “have you — do you ever, uh, dream like that?” The words form clumsily on his tongue. Bucky plays with his flesh fingers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	these hands were meant for mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tori107](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tori107/gifts).



> just needed an excuse to write abt buckys nightmares honestly this is just cuties at night and then cuties in the morning. 
> 
> fr my main bitch

He discovers how to fall into routine slowly. Eating breakfast, attending meetings, cleaning his guns. They come easy, tasks that don't require much attention and do not require precision. He also discovers what it means to be with someone.

Bucky's nightmares do not bother him often, they're rare occurrences lately. He dreams, just not of pain and not enough to remember the next morning. In all honesty, Bucky enjoys sleeping dreamless.

On the occasions they do happen, the nightmares of needles and dark rooms, damp and humid, Bucky wakes easily. He's awake right now, eyes blinking open to find the ceiling staring down at him.

It tells him to go back to sleep.

Unfortunately for him, Bucky’s tight grip on T’Challa’s arm wakes him as well. Sleepy eyes meet his own, blinking to wakefulness. Instinctively, he lets go of his iron grip on T’Challa’s arm. Bucky sighs.

“James?” His voice is thick, a slight mumble.

The bedsheets mock him and the ceiling stares back.

“You should go back to sleep.” He says slowly and makes no move to settle back into the sheets. It's late at night and aside from the posted guards, the palace is asleep.

“Did you dream?” T’Challa’s question is not prying but blunt, it doesn't dancing around the obvious.

“Yes.”

Silence.

A few moments later, “have you — do you ever, uh, dream like that?” The words form clumsily on his tongue. Bucky plays with his flesh fingers.

T’Challa sits up, fingers slipping into the spaces of Bucky’s metal hand. It's comforting.

“I do not dream, James.” He answers carefully.

Moonlight dances across T’Challa’s jaw, illuminating his skin. It shimmers.

Moonlit fingers find the curve of his jaw, pressing into his skin and pulling him close. It's a hug, or what's supposed to resemble one but Bucky doesn't care – he wraps his arm around T’Challa’s shoulder and buries his face in the crook of his neck. Bucky breathes in, letting the warmth and familiarity of T’Challa’s body mould around his.

“Please, sleep.” He says and Bucky obliges, lying back into the bed and pulling the sheets up. He faces the wall and feels T’Challa’s arm rest on his hip, rubbing soothing circles for a bit. He fits perfectly behind Bucky, knees locked tightly behind his and breathing slow and even on Bucky’s neck. Bucky shuts his eyes and let's sleep seep between their bodies.

The morning feels uneventful, Bucky doesn't wake up as early as T’Challa, who is already back from his short meeting before Bucky wakes.

He blinks blearily and rubs the remnants of sleep, yawning tiredly.

“Good morning.” T’Challa’s voice is pleasantly cool, he's changing his tie in the mirror.

Bucky wriggles out of bed, padding over to where T’Challa is standing, fingers finding the knots of the tie and finishing them himself.

“Mornin’” he breathes, not even bothering to hide as he blatantly checks his boyfriend out. He looks immaculate and professional, the handsome curve of his jaw loose in Bucky's presence. This particular suit is Bucky's favourite, black on black and with a black tie.

T’Challa wraps his arms around Bucky’s hips, pulling him into a hug. Something about hugs, the way they wrap Bucky’s entire being in the warmth and love of another human is just fascinating. He buries himself close, breathing in the dizzying cologne and T’Challa.

“How did the meeting go?” They don't talk of princely duties often, only when something truly bothers T’Challa. It tugs something deep in his heart to know the prince is willing to open up to him when he truly feels the urge to.

“It went well.” A slight pause, T’Challa pulls away and smiles, tilting his head, “shall I take you to breakfast?”

Bucky chews on his bottom lip, fiddling with the strand of hair that falls from his bun, “fuck yeah, I’m hungry.”

“I'll be a minute.” He continues and T’Challa takes a seat on one of the couches. The prince’s room is big, a king bed in the middle of the centre wall and a dressing table to the right with a full body mirror. The windows are big, nearly floor to ceiling in size and a couch and a few loves seats occupy the middle of the room. It's a simple area, the furniture is all heavy oak, painted black and a black statue of a panther stands tall by one of the windows.

Bucky slips into a pair of black jeans and a grey button down. He brushes his teeth and messes with his hair slightly, hoping it doesn't look like he just walked out of bed. Which he did but people don’t need to see that. T’Challa is typing away on his phone but stands immediately once he senses Bucky.

He holds out his hand and Bucky takes it, feeling almost bashful. They look worlds apart, T’Challa’s suit is sharp and professional and he looks exactly like what a prince should be. Bucky looks like he threw on the first pair of jeans he saw and the least wrinkled shirt in his drawers. He sighs.

“You're thinking, not a good sign.” T’Challa teases slightly and Bucky shoots him a harmless glare.

“Hilarious.” He snorts, slipping his free hand to T’Challa’s shoulder blade, pulling him close. They meet sort of in the middle, T’Challa kisses with ease, tongue brushing barely over the the seam of Bucky’s lips. He parts them, nipping slightly at the corner of T’Challa’s mouth. A hand slides to his waist, T’Challa’s thumb rubs soothingly over his hipbone.

“Love the shirt.” T’Challa mumbles against his mouth, pressing several kisses to Bucky’s lips. He lets go of Bucky’s hand, dragging his nails over Bucky’s collarbone and down to his abdomen, slipping his hands under the shirt. Bucky’s hand tightens on T’Challa’s shoulder.

“Would like it better when it's gone.” He continues lowly, giving Bucky a slight push towards the wall, cornering him.

He pulls away when Bucky’s stomach rumbles unpleasantly, gesturing to the door.

“Breakfast?” T’Challa laughs, fixing where his tie has gone crooked.

Bucky flips him off.

**Author's Note:**

> buckys stomach is a cockblock. i hope this was good so ?? im rlly ooc but whatever !!


End file.
